


Dark Angels

by MrProphet



Category: Charlie's Angels - All Media Types, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	Dark Angels

The three men jumped when a key rattled in the door of their motel room. In a flash, three pistols had been carefully concealed – inside a jacket, under a magazine and behind the television – and the oldest man ducked quickly into one of the bedrooms.

The door opened and a maid pushed her way in. She wore a pinky-beige uniform, unflattering despite its short skirt and plunging neckline, but her figure was still a sight to see. She had black hair, as shiny and smooth as an oil slick, baby blue eyes and clear, fair skin. Her name tag read: Nikki.

Nikki dragged a trolley of cleaning supplies behind her. “I clean now, yes?” she announced in an exotic, Eastern European accent.

One of the men – we'll call him... Burt – stepped forward. “No,” he corrected. “Not now.”

“Yes now!” she took the tag off the door handle and showed him that it had been turned to show the 'please clean this room' side.

“Uh... no, no, no,” Burt said, snatching the card from her hand. “That's... uff!” He stumbled back as the cleaning trolley smacked him in the gut.

“Oh; so sorry,” the girl giggled. “I not bother you any more. Just clean.” she snatched out a duster and began to wipe around the edge of the television.

While Burt gasped, the second man – who can be Chet, for lack of anything better – hurried over. He tried in vain to steer her away, then settled for hastily retrieving the concealed pistol and stuffing it down the back of his jeans. “We don't need...”

“Room service!” A second girl entered the room, pushing a second trolley, this one laden with food. This girl was fair-haired and brown eyed, but as sleek and beautiful as the first. Her name tag said 'Julie'.

“Room service?” Burt choked.

“Yes, sir,” Julie replied brightly. “Food to your room; it's a thing we do here in America.”

“We didn't order any room service!”

“Sure you did! Room 218; sausage, eggs, grits, hash browns... Devilled kidneys we didn't have. Say, are you British?”

“No!” Burt snapped, at the same time that Chet said: “Chris is.”

“Three of you in one room?” Julie giggled. “I guess you won't want me hanging about then; I'll just set these down over here...”

She made for the table with the magazines, but Burt rushed to get there first, sweeping away the pile and with them the gun.

“Such gentlemen, you British.”

“I'm not...”

There was a sharp knocking at the door and a third woman entered. She was older than the two maids, and wore a dark suit over a fuller figure. She had red hair which she had tied back in a severe bun and wore wire-rimmed spectacles over green eyes. She also wore a name tag, but the name on it – Matti – scarcely seemed to suit her.

“Gentlemen,” she snapped in a crisp voice, “I'll come to the point. There have been... complaints.”

“What?” Burt was incredulous. “But we...”

“Excuse; I clean!” Nikki noted, pushing past behind Chet.

“Who had the ketch-her-ee?” Julie wondered, picking up a knife and plate.

The bedroom door opened and Chris stepped out. He flashed a fierce look at Burt, who immediately shut the door. At once, the three men had their pistols in their hands.

“I don't know what you're doing here,” Chris noted, “but you'll be very sorry you came.”

At that moment, one of the dishes on the room service trolley began to rattle madly. The three pistols turned, and before the men could react to the sight of an alarm clock shaking itself loose of its concealment, the three women were in motion.

Nikki swiped her duster across Chet's gun hand and a hidden blade bit deep. Blood welled up and the pistol dropped from his fingers. Julie flipped a plate of kedgeree into Burt's face and stabbed him in the crook of the elbow; his pistol too dropped to the floor. Unarmed, Matti simply drove the hardened edge of her hand down on Chris's wrist and the Englishman too was disarmed. A second blow had him writhing on the floor, where his cohorts had already fallen.

Moving fast, Julie and Nikki swept up the guns and held the three men covered, while Matti went into the bedroom and released their hostage, a teenage girl. The child seemed unharmed and, satisfied, Matti took out her mobile and hit speed dial.

“Mission accomplished,” she said. “Tell Charlie the girl is safe and sound.” She cut off the call and turned to the girl. “It's alright now, Kelly,” she said, leading her back through the main room. “Don't worry about these three. Your daddy's waiting for you in the lobby. You run back to him now and tell him we'll take care of everything. Okay?”

Kelly nodded, but her eyes were unfocused. Matti locked her gaze with the girl's and ran a finger along her jaw. “Be a brave girl,” she instructed, and something in Kelly seemed to inflate.

“Alright,” she agreed, and she left the room with a confident gait.

“Charming girl,” Matti noted. To the three men's surprise her voice changed, taking on an accent not unlike Nikki's. Also to their surprise, she closed the door after Kelly before turning towards them. “Now; what to do with you...?”

“You may as well turn us over to the cops,” Chris scoffed. “We won't tell them who hired us, and we sure as hell won't tell you.”

“Oh, I think you will,” Matti purred.

“It's going to take more than you've got, sweetheart, to make us give up someone like...” He tailed off, staring in horror.

Julie followed his gaze and rolled her eyes in disgust. “Dominique!” she snapped.

Nikki paused with her long, red tongue still caressing the bloody blade of her hidden knife. “Oops,” she said.

Matti sighed. “Well, I suppose that is cat out of bag.” She took of her glasses and shook her head from side to side. Her hair came loose and tumbled down over her shoulders, but the three men barely noticed; their eyes were locked on her jaw as it clicked and cracked and gaped like a serpent's maw.

“Ricker!” Chris screamed. “We work for Johnny Ricker!”

“Thank you,” Matti said. “Bon apetit, ladies!”

The screaming was brief.

*

The next day, Kelly's father – knowing only that his daughter was safe – cheerfully signed a large cheque, made out to the Charlie Alucard Detective Agency.


End file.
